Smile Like You Mean It
by Aeramus
Summary: Post-GoF. Harry hopes his smile is enough to keep them away. He doesn’t think it’s long, now, before the cracks in his soul make him shatter. Warnings: self-harm, attempted suicide. Under revision.
1. All These Things That I've Done

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I've just borrowed some characters and places from J.K. Rowling to fulfill my needs.

Okay, I never thought I'd write a cutting- or suicidal-Harry (purely because I don't think Harry's character is capable of doing that to himself), but I've been inspired to write this by my friend who has tried to kill herself twice already. I think it's incredibly horrible that her life has gotten to the point where she thinks she has nothing left and no one to go to, and I'm trying desperately to convince her otherwise before it's too late.

* * *

Harry stared into the common room fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames. He watched as the blazing colors rolled over each other and licked the popping logs. The dark, soothing grasp of unconsciousness began to cloud his vision. His head became heavy and lolled forward onto his chest; the sounds of his friends' voices faded away as he entered the silent realm of sleep.

_He was kneeling on the cold, hard earth. Tendrils of mist swirled around him, the peaceful movement a massive contrast to the unbearable pain building in his throbbing forehead. A high-pitched, eerie voice spoke, sending horrible chills up his spine, "Kill the spare!" He opened his eyes to blazing green light. He watched as the light and life disappeared from Cedric's eyes. Fear rose in his throat; Voldemort stalked toward him, raising his murderous wand high in the air. Harry twisted away, bracing himself for the attack…but it didn't come. He turned back and found himself looking into Cedric's pale, dead face. "You killed me, Harry, it's your fault. You could've stopped him, it's all your fault!" Cedric fell to the ground, screaming in pain – Harry's screams joined Cedric's, echoing all around the graveyard…._

Harry woke with a start. His breathing was shallow and uneven. Ron and Ginny looked up from the floor, temporarily halting their intense game of chess.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked, looking questioningly up into his best friend's face. Hermione, who was curled up in the large armchair next to Harry's, slowly put down her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 5)_. She searched Harry's face, carefully scrutinizing his slightly panicked features.

"Yeah." Harry answered, mentally shaking himself and forcing his breathing under control. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Ron glanced disbelievingly at Harry's trembling hands but went back to the chessboard nevertheless. Hermione continued to stare intently, drawing Harry's gaze. "I'm fine." He repeated exasperatedly. "Really."

Hermione, unconvinced, didn't shift in the slightest. Harry pretended not to notice. He yawned widely and stretched his arms over his head, rising to his feet, "I think I'm going to head up to bed. 'Night."

"'Night," Ron and Ginny muttered absently, their eyes never leaving the tiny battlefield in front of them.

"Goodnight, Harry." Hermione said softly as she watched him retreat up the spiral staircase.

As soon as they heard the door close, Ron looked up at Hermione. "D'you want me to check on him?" This had turned into an almost nightly routine; Harry would go to bed early and then Ron would go up after him, trying as inconspicuously as possible to see what he was really up to before reporting back to the worried girls in the common room. Harry always pretended to be asleep, but years of sharing a dormitory with him told Ron that he was faking. Nobody wanted to push Harry to explain, though; it was only natural that he would occasionally want to be alone after everything that had happened surrounding Voldemort's resurrection.

"No," Hermione said slowly, "Wait a bit; I'm sure he's caught on to what you're doing by now." Ron nodded and rolled over onto his back to stare at the ceiling, abandoning the chess game.

"What do you think he's doing?" Ginny asked in an uncharacteristically timid voice. She sounded scared.

"I don't know." Hermione said, "I'd like to think he's not doing anything stupid, but there's not much hope in that."

Ginny smiled sadly. _'Isn't that the truth?', _she thought as she began to put the chess pieces back into their box, the knights protesting loudly.

* * *

Harry closed the door behind him and stood stock still, listening for the footsteps he knew would come. He waited…and waited…nobody was coming. _'Odd,'_ he thought. Slightly suspicious but grateful that no one had followed, Harry moved away from the door and went straight across the room to his nightstand, drawing out the knife. He examined its flawless blade, admiring the way the steel gleamed in the dim candlelight. He sighed; it felt good to hold it again, to know his only comfort was back in his hands.

He listened closely once more for signs of Ron's usual trek up to the dorms. Nothing. Harry smiled to himself and climbed onto his bed, pulling the scarlet curtains closed around him. Sitting against the headboard, Harry rolled up his sleeve. He set the knife down on his lap and turned his gaze to his pale left forearm. The underside was littered with red and pink scars, most not even half healed. He lightly traced his finger over the scar nearest to the crook of his arm, the one that was nothing more than a faint white line now. His first. It had been deep. He hadn't been trying to kill himself, though…no, suicide hadn't really been on his mind that night.

_Harry woke up, drenched in sweat, gagging. He leaned over the side of his bed and retched, emptying the meager contents of his stomach. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand and sat up, shivering uncontrollably. It was all his fault…Cedric had even told him so in his dream. _'And it was my blood that brought Voldemort back,' _Harry thought,_ 'my blood….' _He bent forward and gripped his hair; he was disgusted with himself, with what was inside him. Rage and revulsion pulsed through his veins along with the tainted blood. Harry looked around frantically, not even sure what exactly it was that he was searching for._

_With sudden inspiration, he leaned over the side of the bed again and reached into the space below the floorboard, bringing out the knife Sirius had given him last Christmas. Without really registering what he was actually doing, he placed the blade against his ashen skin and drew it back sharply, slicing deeply into his own flesh. He watched with mingled horror, relief, and exhilaration as the dark red liquid gushed out of the self-inflicted wound and ran freely down his arm, soaking his clothes. He smiled slightly at the thought of getting rid of the polluted substance, if only just a little. We watched until he began to feel light-headed. Starting to get a little nervous, he wrapped a sheet around his arm to stop the blood flow and lay back down to give himself a sense of stability…all that blood. He didn't have anything to worry about, though – he wasn't concerned that his aunt of uncle would find out; they didn't come into his room. _'Besides,' _he thought,_ 'they wouldn't care anyway.' _And with that, he fell into a heavy sleep, still clutching his bloody arm._

It was a month into the school year and Harry had done it almost every night since then. He ran his fingers over the other cuts. The first time had been a vain attempt to rid himself of the strange bond between himself and Voldemort. Now he knew such a thing wasn't possible, not by any simple means, that is. No, he continued to do it because, he had discovered, it made him feel good. Cutting was the only thing that could accomplish that nowadays. He loved his friends dearly, but he knew they didn't understand, that they _couldn't_ understand. Nobody had lived a life like his before. No one could relate. Except the knife. He felt it understood his need to have something, _anything,_ that he could control.

Not that he actually the thought the knife had a mind of its own or anything; he wasn't nutters…yet. He felt it was more the fact that it was a constant, that the steel seemed to have a simple personality of its own. It was something he could come back to every night and know it was still there, waiting for him. It was his release from everything he couldn't handle – Hermione's constant gaze, people whispering about him as he passed in the hall, Cedric's death weighing heavily down on his shoulders.

Harry picked up the glinting knife and positioned it above his arm so that the cool blade was just barely touching his arm. A tiny thrill of anticipation traveled the length of his spine. He took a deep breath and dug into his flesh. He drew back slowly, savoring the congenial pain. He sighed with relief, temporarily separating himself from the awful nightmare he called his life.

Harry looked down at the wound and frowned; that amazing, carefree feeling had faded after only a few seconds. He needed more, he needed to cut deeper. He brought the knife across his skin again and marveled at the wonderful, horrible sensation. The blood was flowing faster now…but it wasn't enough. He moved the knife a couple inches toward his palm and dragged it across again, making this cut several inches longer than the last two.

Harry's arm was shaking now and was becoming paler by the second. His new cuts throbbed and bled; he was caught up in stinging euphoria…in this moment, he was happy. But it felt like something was missing, something was off. Cutting hadn't been _quite_ enough this time…what was wrong?

'_Just do it_,' said a voice in the back of Harry's head, '_What do you have to live for_?'

'My friends…'

'_You're friends don't need you. Besides, you only put them in danger.'_

'Well, Sirius, then – '

'_Sirius would get over it; he only likes you because you look like your dad, anyway…'_

'No…I shouldn't do this…it's not right.'

'_You want to.'_

'I know.'

'_Do it.'_

'I'm not sure.'

'_Everything will be alright again – you'll see your parents.'_

'That would be nice…'

'_You have nothing to live for – just do it.'_

'Okay.'

Harry lifted his right arm and, without hesitation, cut straight through the bright blue vein in his wrist. Blood gushed. Harry dropped the knife. He was already becoming weak and was losing energy fast. He fell back onto the pillows; his shirt and sheets were a deep red now. His vision was fading. His ears were ringing.

'_This isn't so bad.'_

Black was closing in on him…he heard a voice, a shout, "Hermione!"

'_I know that name.'_

There was pounding, footsteps, a scream, yelling. He couldn't make sense of it. The knife was pulled from his hand…the world was spinning around him.

He closed his eyes and let the sweet, calm darkness pull him under.

* * *

Author's Note: THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. I have still have one or two chapters left to go, so stay tuned. I plan to update VERY soon. 


	2. Somebody Told Me

Unfortunately, I didn't get this chapter out as early as I would have liked; complications arose, ensued, were overcome (anyone who's seen Pirates of the Caribbean II will have gotten that). Anywho, poor attempts at movie quotes aside, this chapter's a bit short but I hope you enjoy!

* * *

…_can't believe…do something like this_…

…_didn't know…_

…_horrible…_

…_why…_

Quiet whispers floated around Harry's head, tugging him lightly toward consciousness. He resisted with what little energy he had; he didn't want to wake up, he liked it here…it was nice…it was quiet. But the voices were stubborn, they kept pulling him…he thought he could even hear sobbing now.

His body must've felt the need to bring him to awareness, too, because a wave of pain hit him even before he had fully awakened. His head was heavy and pounding, his stomach was writhing with nausea, his chest was aching, and it felt as if his left arm had just been soaked in boiling water. He groaned faintly and clenched his jaw, willing the pain to go away. The voices stopped. Then one spoke again, this time closer to his ear.

"Come on, Harry, you can do it. Open your eyes, come on. That's right."

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed and slowly lifted his eyelids. He had reckoned he was in the Hospital Wing and was expecting bright light to flood his vision, but, instead, everything seemed dimmed. Harry could see the sun just beginning to set behind the mountains that surrounded the school; it was casting a faintly orange glow over the white hospital beds and the three people sitting around his own bed.

Harry found himself staring into Hermione's brown, red-rimmed eyes. A look of relief skittered across her face, which was only inches from his own, before it was immediately replaced by worry.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry didn't answer right away. An odd buzzing sound filled his head followed by a horrible sinking sensation in his already upset stomach; they _knew_. That's why he was here. They must have found him when he'd passed out. He suddenly got very dizzy and closed his eyes; it wasn't supposed to be like this…he hadn't wanted anyone to discover him until was already too late. He shouldn't be alive…he was a danger to everyone. _And_, Harry thought miserably, _they'll probably make sure I won't be able to do it again_.

A sniff from Ginny's direction brought Harry out of his despairing thoughts. "Fine," he said, remembering the question and opening his eyes. Someone snorted bitterly behind Hermione. Hermione sat back in her chair, revealing Ron who was sitting next to Ginny with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

Harry sat up slowly, wincing. He moved back against his pillows and opened his mouth to speak but Ron cut him off, still looking at the ground.

"We find you in bed, covered in blood after you've tried to kill yourself and you say you're 'fine'." He looked up with an angry and hurt expression, and Harry was surprised to see his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why are you doing this? Don't you trust us? Any of us?"

Harry, taken aback at how forward Ron had just been, couldn't seem to find his voice. Both Hermione and Ginny were staring at Harry, tears streaming silently down their faces. Ginny had her legs pulled up to her chest and looked just as hurt as Ron did. Harry opened his mouth again but closed it, knowing he wouldn't be able to explain anything to his best mate, and settled for staring at his hands. He registered dimly that his left arm was bandaged from his elbow to his wrist; there were little splotches of red where the blood had soaked through.

Hermione whispered something and Harry looked up to see Ginny unfold herself from the chair and head towards Madame Pomfrey's chamber doors, wiping her eyes as she went. Guiltily, Harry looked back at Ron who was still gazing at him, a hard expression on his face.

"I can't believe you."

"Ron…" Hermione started, not sure whether Ron would cross any lines, but he went on as if he hadn't heard.

"After everything the three of us have been through, you didn't have the sense or consideration to tell us that you were having this big of a problem?" Ron uncrossed his arms and his voice grew quiet, "I just don't understand you." Then, without warning: "This was the most stupid, _selfish_ thing you could've done!"

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione said tearfully.

But now tears were running down Ron's face as well; he seemed slightly hysterical. "How could you!" He yelled, "HOW COULD YOU _DO_ THIS!"

Hermione rose to her feet to try and calm Ron down, but he stood and turned away from her, wiping his face furiously, and strode purposefully out of the infirmary without looking back. Hermione looked hesitant for a second before sitting back down in her chair shakily, deciding Harry was more important at the moment. She looked up into Harry's eyes after a moment. "He didn't mean it, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, "of course." The truth was, he rather believed Ron had meant every single word. And it stung. Terribly. Harry had done it so they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. He'd done it so they'd be safe. Of course, he _did_ think he'd be happier dead, but, overall, he'd done it for _them_…and now Ron hated him for it.

Before either of them could say anything else, Ginny was back with Madame Pomfrey. As Ginny settled into the chair again, Madame Pomfrey went over to a shelf and took down a bottle full of deep red potion. She, Harry noticed, seemed to have lost a little of her bustling energy. She walked over to Harry's bed and picked up a goblet from the bedside table, pouring the contents of the bottle into it.

"Here, Harry, drink this," she said, handing the cup over, "It's a blood replenishing potion; it will help with the nausea and also headache I assume you have."

Harry took the cup gratefully and downed the potion in one go before realizing with a small start that the matron had called him by his first name for once. _Odd_, he thought, before noting the sad and slightly distant look to her eyes. But she seemed to snap out of it quickly enough and adopted her usual brisk manner. "Now, Mr. Potter, if you don't mind, I'd like to look over your arm again before the headmaster arrives. Yes, he is coming," she added in response to Harry's horrified look. "Your arm, please."

Harry hesitated; he wasn't sure if Hermione and Ginny had actually seen his arm yet and wasn't looking forward to their disgusted expressions.

Sensing his reluctance, Madame Pomfrey once again took on a softer air and spoke kindly, "It's best to get this over with." Deciding he agreed, Harry offered her his left arm. As much as he didn't want the girls to see, it was nothing compared to how much he didn't want to be on the receiving end of Dumbledore's reaction.

Harry tried his best not to hiss in pain as she carefully unwrapped the gauze. At the sight of his arm, Hermione let out a choked sob, but Ginny couldn't seem to do anything but stare, fresh tears staining her face. Having caused the scars himself and seen them so often, Harry wasn't affected by it at all. But, he supposed, from their point of view, it must be absolutely horrific. It was an utter battlefield of white and pink faded scars joined by deep, recent cuts that had scabbed over a little. And then there were the three incisions he had done that day, still bleeding slightly…the one on his wrist was gruesome-looking and tinged purple. Hermione turned her face away and Madame Pomfrey paused for a split second before reaching for a container of some sort of gel-like substance that she proceeded to rub gently over his arm.

Harry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the awful burning sensation that assaulted his skin. It felt like acid was eating away at him.

Thankfully, it was over in a matter of minutes and Harry opened his eyes to see Madame Pomfrey replace the lid on the container and walk back towards her office without re-bandaging his arm, telling them to fetch her if the need arose. In the wake of silence the three had been left in, Harry kept his eyes glued to his sore and throbbing arm, refusing to look at either of his friends.

The silence continued for several minutes, everyone absorbed by their own thoughts, before the creak of the Hospital Wing doors opening brought them all to attention. Harry looked up…and paled.

Dumbledore.

He quickly strode the length of the infirmary and stopped at the end of Harry's bed, surveying the boy before him with an unreadable expression. But one thing was for certain: the twinkle was completely gone from his eyes. Harry squirmed a little under the piercing gaze, wishing his blankets would swallow him up. When the professor spoke, even his voice didn't betray his true feelings.

"Madame Pomfrey has told me some disturbing things….Do you care to explain?"

Harry hesitated, and then purposefully shook his head. If Dumbledore was surprised, he didn't show it.

"And why is that?"

Again, Harry paused, and then said simply, "You wouldn't understand." Then as an afterthought, "Sir."

Dumbledore nodded as though he had expected the answer. "You and I will have a talk about this later, then." It wasn't a request in the slightest.

The headmaster turned to leave, but Harry stopped him.

"Wait!" Dumbledore faced him again. "Please, sir," Harry said quietly, "Who else knows about…this?"

Dumbledore's face softened the tiniest bit and he let a little sorrow slip into his voice, "I've informed Professor McGonagall, as your Head of House…and also Sirius; in fact, he should be here within the hour."

Panic gripped Harry's heart like a vice. "No, please, not Sirius…he'll kill me!" Harry said wildly, ignoring the irony of his last remark.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but he deserves to know about anything of this magnitude. I have already told him, and not doing so would have been a very poor choice on my part. As I say, he should be here shortly." Harry watched in despair as his headmaster walked over to Madame Pomfrey's office and disappeared through the door.

Harry's brain had gone numb; if Ron's reaction was anything to go by, Harry doubted Sirius would ever talk to him again, let alone forgive him. _How did this turn out so wrong?_ he thought, putting his head in his hands. _How?_

He didn't look up when Ginny asked Hermione where Ron had gone. He didn't look up when he heard Ginny rise from her chair and exit the room to look for her brother. He didn't even look up when he felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder. He couldn't do it anymore…he just couldn't do it. The tears formed in his eyes and quickly flooded, pouring right into his hands. Hermione began to rub his back in comforting circles.

"It'll be okay, Harry," she whispered, "It'll be okay…I promise."

As he sat there crying silently into his scars, Harry thought of Ron and couldn't find it in himself to believe her.

* * *

Author's Note: Once again, this is NOT the end of the story. I have at least one more chapter left and it will be out faster than this one was, so you won't have long to wait.

Also, a _huge_ thank you to the four people who took their time to read and review the first chapter: **Silver Dog Demon**, **dead-marauders**, **moonypadfoot**, and **Killallwithblood**. Thank you all very much for your input.


	3. Mr Brightside

Well, as it turns out, this is _still_ not the last chapter. The characters got stubborn and refused to stick to the outline so the story is just a tad longer. I'm 98 percent sure that there'll only be one more chapter after this one, but who knows, the plot might decide to stretch itself out again. Anyway, this is the longest chapter yet (although that's not saying much, in my opinion), so I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Harry laid back down, covering his face with his hands and sinking into the bed as much as possible. "He won't, Hermione, he just won't. I'll bet he's ten times worse than Ron," he said miserably.

"First of all," Hermione began, pulling the boy's hands gently from his face and making him look at her, "Ron was just being his normal, tactless self. He only said all those things because he didn't know exactly how to say what he was feeling. He'll come round, you'll see. And as for Sirius…well, he _is_ ten times worse than Ron when it comes to delicacy," she said, provoking a small smile onto Harry's face. "But," she continued, "I think he might be a bit more understanding. He'll at least hear you out."

Harry, once again, met Hermione's words with unwilling skepticism. She'd been trying unsuccessfully for the past half hour to assure her friend that the impending meeting with his godfather wouldn't go as horribly as he was imagining. But despite her efforts, Harry still thought he had about the same chance of coming out of this unscathed as getting Snape to start wearing pink, frilly dresses.

The Hospital Wing doors opened, startling Harry. _Those doors are going to give me a heart attack one of these days_, he thought as he sat up.

It was Ginny. She came in and settled herself on the end of Harry's bed. "I couldn't find Ron," she said, "But I saw Sirius, I think he's on his way here." Harry's stomach flipped over. He took a deep breath; this was it. He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and looked over at her.

"What if he blows up at me?" He asked glumly.

"He won't."

"But if he does…"

"Then you've still got me," she said firmly. She bent down and kissed his forehead before leaving with Ginny to look for Ron once again. Harry looked down at his lap and took several deep breaths, trying to get his stomach to stop twisting itself into knots.

Harry's mind wasn't merciful during the long minutes before Sirius's arrival; it kept straying back and forth between the memory of Ron's unexpected reaction and the imminent talk with Dumbledore that was sure to be emotional, at least on his part. He wondered over and over again _why_ he was still alive…Couldn't he just get one break? Hadn't his life already been hard enough? Shouldn't he be able to release himself and those around him from all this unnecessary pain if he so chose?

_Apparently not_, he thought dryly.

His thoughts circled around once again to Sirius. Would he understand like Hermione had said? Or would he react like Ron? There was no way of telling. Harry sighed. He would just have to wait for those horrible oak doors to open again…

And so they did.

The vicious cycle of Harry's thoughts stopped abruptly. He watched with dread as his godfather strode quickly up the ward; his face was slightly red and it looked as if he had been running. There was a peculiar expression on his face. Fear? Harry didn't think so. What did Sirius have to be afraid of?

Sirius began speaking frantically even before he had taken a seat at Harry's bedside. "It's not really true, is it? Why are you in here? What did you do? This is some sick joke, right, Harry?"

Looking into the gray eyes before him, Harry slowly shook his head.

Terror swept through Sirius's eyes. "No? What do you mean, 'no'? You mean you actually tried to…to…to kill yourself." Sirius spoke the last part very quietly, as if saying it too loud might cause it to be true.

Harry nodded this time, still slowly.

"Why?" Sirius whispered. He looked absolutely devastated.

Harry hesitated. He wasn't usually one for spilling his guts out just like that, but he _had_ to make Sirius understand. "I – I can't do it anymore. And I don't want _you_ to have to do it anymore. It's not fair."

"Do what?" Sirius questioned desperately, "What's not fair?"

"Everything. Everything's too hard," Harry said in a weary voice. "I can't stand it all."

"Can't stand what, Harry, what's wrong?"

Before he knew it, Harry found himself ranting, "Voldemort won't leave me alone, he's always inside my head, telling me it's my fault. And it is. And I put everyone in danger just by being near them, and I hate it. Everyone talks about me and looks at me like I'm either a helpless little kid or a murderer; I just can't stand it anymore. It's too much. I'm _sick_ of being the bloody Boy-Who-Lived."

More questions exploded inside Sirius's head. What was Harry's fault? Did he really think he was a danger to everyone? Were there actually some people who thought his godson was a murderer or was it just Harry's imagination? Why hadn't Harry told anyone about all this before? But instead of voicing any of these, Sirius blurted out, "But why would you want to kill yourself?"

"Because there's no other way!" Harry exclaimed, getting frustrated. "I'm _dangerous_! Look what happened to Cedric! You guys shouldn't have to deal with that! _I_ don't want to deal with it! I'm sick of _all_ of it! I _want_ to die!"

Sirius looked as if his heart had broken in two. He looked down slowly and put his head in his hands. When he finally did lift his face again, he whispered, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Harry hung his head, "Who could I have told?"

"_Me_!" Sirius said so desperately that Harry looked up into his face again. "Why didn't you tell _me_!?"

Harry look away again, before charging on bravely. "Because you don't really care," he said, closing his eyes.

Harry opened his eyes as Sirius grabbed his chin and forced his godson to face him again. "And why the hell would you think I don't care about you?" He said loudly. Harry pulled himself from his godfather's grip and shrugged. "Don't you dare start doing that rubbish! Answer me." Harry just couldn't bring himself to say it. He remained silent.

"Harry, damn it! What's wrong!? _What_ is going on inside your head!? You think I don't care about you, I want to kn – ! "

"YOU THINK I'M MY DAD!" Harry yelled, unable to take it anymore.

Sirius froze.

"You only like me because I look like him! You don't care about _me_, you just want _him_ back!"

"Harry – why – you…_no_! I've _never_ thought that! Why would you – ? _No_!"

"I know it's true," Harry persisted, "I know you wish I was him."

"_No_, Harry – " Sirius began.

"It's okay, you miss him." Harry said sadly, averting him eyes to the bedclothes, "You don't have to – "

But it was Sirius's turn to yell, he was on his feet it seconds. "I DO _NOT_ THINK YOU ARE JAMES!" Harry flinched and looked up in terror; his godfather had never yelled at him before. "You're Harry! You're his _son_! You're so much like him, but you are _different_! I know that! I care about _you_! I love _you_!"

Harry's heart stopped. "W-what?"

Sirius forced himself to calm down a bit, and he looked at Harry's odd, shocked expression before echoing, "What?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth a couple times. "You…you said…you lo – you…" Harry took a deep breath and said very quietly, "You said you loved me."

"Of course I do," Sirius said, confused.

"Sorry, it's just…no one's…ever…I never…Are you sure?" He finished lamely.

"Very sure," Sirius said in growing confusion, his eyebrows knitted together. Why was Harry acting like this? What was wrong? Then comprehension began to dawn; from what he had gathered over the past two years, the Dursleys had never been the sort to comfort Harry in any way, let alone tell him they loved him. And he knew that Ron and Hermione loved their friend, but it had probably never crossed their minds that Harry didn't already know that. Sirius found that he was shocked; no one had _ever_ told Harry they loved him! James and Lily had said those words to their son every day, of course, but Harry wouldn't remember that. No wonder Harry was so ready to give up on life, Sirius thought, he must feel so utterly _alone_. "You mean," Sirius voiced, "that no one's ever told you that before?" He had to be sure.

Harry shook his head slowly, staring straight into his godfather's eyes. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, and then stared at Harry for what seemed like an eternity for both of them. Harry started when Sirius suddenly got onto the bed and settled himself cross-legged right in front of Harry. He looked down and noticed Harry's arm for the first time; it was the most horrible thing he had ever witnessed, and that was saying quite a lot. He took his godson's hand in his own and pulled the arm forward. He touched one of the cuts but drew back immediately when Harry hissed in pain. "You've been doing this for a long time," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, as he looked at the multitude of slashes that were all in various stages of healing. It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

Sirius released the arm and looked up. He placed his hands on either side of the boy's face and leaned forward until their noses were about six inches apart. "I love you," he said firmly, "Do you understand? I love you, and nothing will ever, _ever_ change that. But this," he removed one of his hands from Harry's head and held the mutilated arm up so it was next to both of their faces, "has got to stop. You can't do this; you are _hurting_ yourself."

"It's not that simple," whispered Harry, "I can't just stop."

"Why?" Sirius questioned exasperatedly, releasing Harry's arm.

"Because…," Harry began, "because this is what makes me alright. If I can't do it…I don't know, I'd go crazy."

"But it's _wrong_," Sirius persisted, "This isn't going to solve anything, you have to talk to someone about all that stuff that makes you want to do this. You can talk to Ron or Hermione; they'll _want_ you to talk to them. And now you know for sure that you can come to me about _anything_, and I'll do my very best to help you." Sirius noticed that Harry looked doubtful about all of this. He had perfectly good reasons, Sirius knew, to be doubtful, at least in his own mind. But Sirius was trying to get rid of those doubts, so Harry wouldn't be alone anymore.

"You have to believe me, Harry. If talking it out will help you stop this, then that's what I want you to do. I _need_ you to do that for me, okay?"

Harry still seemed a bit uncertain. "But if it's going to help, then I need to talk to someone as _soon_ as I feel like cutting. They'll probably have to talk me out of it or something. If I send you a letter, it'll be too slow."

"Then you can go to Ron or Hermione."

Harry looked down and said so quietly that Sirius barely heard it, "What if I need _you_?"

Sirius felt a warm sensation fill the pit of his stomach. He paused. "I'll ask Dumbledore if I can stay somewhere in the castle, then. That way – "

Harry looked at his lap as his heart sunk slightly; he was becoming a burden again. Sirius was offering to stay in the castle just because he'd had to go and complain. But before he could think any further along those lines, he felt his godfather take his chin in his hands and raise his head to meet his eyes.

"That way," Sirius continued firmly, sensing Harry's thoughts were probably going down a dangerous path, "I'll be here whenever you need me, night or day. And it's not a problem, Harry, I swear; I want to be close to you, especially if you're having a hard time. Anyway," Sirius smirked, "I'm staying with Remus as of this moment and, trust me, there's only so much of that man one can take."

Harry smiled up at his godfather, and was taken aback but very pleased when Sirius pulled him into an embrace. Although a bit foreign to him, Harry found that he liked this feeling, very much in fact. He felt completely and utterly safe in Sirius's arms, and that definitely wasn't something he was familiar with. Harry's head rested against his godfather's chest, and Sirius had his own cheek pressed into Harry's messy black hair. Harry closed his eyes and listened contentedly to Sirius's heartbeat, and felt his chest rise and fall. He hoped this wasn't all too good to be true…sure, it wasn't all perfect or anything, but it was better than he'd ever had. His godfather was holding him like a father should with his own child, he was moving into the castle so he could see Harry, he'd told Harry he _loved_ him.

"I like it when you smile," Sirius said softly. Harry felt himself blush, and he buried his head further against Sirius's chest. Sirius chuckled, "Bashful, are we?" Harry smiled again, though Sirius couldn't see it.

Sirius began running his hand through Harry's hair. Harry felt ready to burst with delight, something he thought very ironic seeing as mere hours ago he'd tried to end his own life. A sudden chill of something akin to terror raced up Harry's spine; if he had succeeded in killing himself, he wouldn't have ever talked to Sirius…he wouldn't be sitting here now, warm and comforted. Harry was startled to find tears prickling his eyes but soon realized, as the tears ran down his face and were absorbed by Sirius's robes, that it wasn't any one emotion that had set him off, but rather a whole mix of emotions that had bubbled over the surface; happiness at the comfort Sirius now offered, horror at what he'd almost done, worry about facing Ron and Dumbledore again, and anxiety about supposedly attempting to stop his cutting.

Before he knew it, he was sobbing against Sirius, who just held him tighter and rubbed circles on his back, whispering soft words of encouragement. They sat like that for a long time. Harry had almost fallen asleep when Sirius pulled away and stood up. Harry fought the urge whimper at the loss of contact.

Sirius smiled down at his godson and leaned down, gently forcing the boy back onto his pillows. He pulled the blankets tighter around Harry and ran a hand through his hair a few more times.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Sirius asked softly.

"In Madame Pomfrey's office," Harry said sleepily, his eyes already closing.

Sirius patted Harry's chest, "Get some sleep…I'll be here when you wake up."

Harry was fast asleep before the door closed behind Sirius.

* * *

And we're at the end of another chapter…ah well. Onto review responses, and then I'm off to work on Green-Eyed Tears and another story I haven't posted just yet!

**Review Responses:**

**Spartan Eragon –** I'm _so_ happy your friends were able to help you! Thank you very much for taking the time to review.

**moonypadfoot –** Well, I must say, thank you very much for that encouraging review! I'm relieved to know this story is having the effect I was going for!

**Silver Dog Demon –** I hoped you liked Sirius's reaction. As I'm not _entirely_ sure how canon-Sirius would react in this situation, I had a bit of a hard time with it but I hope it turned out okay. Thanks for the review!

**fiatluxanna –** Ah, so someone did notice the Killers song titles! I hadn't really intended them to be named that from the beginning but I thought they fit well enough. Thank you very much for the review!

Also thanks to **GoddessGirl1372**, **naomi.black**, and **soojinyeh** for your wonderful reviews!


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